


The Soldier and The Scholar

by JessamyGriffith



Series: Of Soldiers and Scholars [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ficlet, Gen, sketch - freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/pseuds/JessamyGriffith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pencil sketch of John and Sherlock in the 15th century, as a Landsknecht soldier and an eccentric scholar and philosopher respectively.</p><p>Accompanying ficlet summary - He was wounded, bled white and left for dead in the chill spring of the Italian countryside - a terrible fate. He didn't expect it to grow worse. He didn't expect to find himself still amongst the living while his grave was being dug beside him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soldier and The Scholar

 

****

He was wounded, bled white and left for dead in the chill spring of the Italian countryside. He awoke, to his pale surprise, to the rough sound of a spade digging into the damp dirt and the sucking noise it made as it lifted dripping earth. Lids too heavy to lift, mind drifting, Johannes listened as the unseen man grunted over his work. Digging… digging what? A… hole. A grave. His grave. Johannes felt in a vague way that he should do something - curse at his gravedigger, perhaps let him know that he wasn’t about to go into some unmarked pit in this pissing Italian dung heap in the middle of nowhere. Not Johannes von Wald.

There was a taste of iron on his tongue. His mouth didn’t seem to be working. He strained to move, but his body was cold as clay and as unresponsive. Only the tips of his fingers quivered before he lapsed back into lassitude. His throat hurt. God, he hurt all over. Never mind. It was too late, he understood that. He'd known when the bolt had struck him. Might as well make his peace with God and just die here, unconsecrated ground or not. It was bound to be less painful than existence at the moment. He lay unmoving, the chill of the earth seepiing through his wool and linen, flies buzzing and brushing against his face and mouth. The steel crossbow bolt head still lodged in his shoulder sent occasional lightning flickers of pain down down his arm and chest. It hurt to just to breath. Yes. Better to just lie here, so quiet here… And rest.

****

He awoke again, cold to his marrow. The pain was a distant thing, for the moment. Surely it was a bad sign? Johannes had seen enough companions die of wounds to know this. Dimly there came to his dull ears the sounds of voices arguing.

“Ye’d give me how much for that? For what devil’s purpose would you want -?”

A deep voice murmured something, and the other voice became querulous.

“Nay. Three _bronzo_ is paltry! After I spent half the day diggin’…”

“T’is clear from the sides of the hole that-” Johannes’ arm twitched and the rest of the sentence was washed out in a black wave as the pain rolled over him and ebbed.

When his head cleared, Johannes listened without much comprehension, letting the words beat on his mind like rain on thatch. After a while he realised that the deep-voiced man was bargaining to buy his dead body as though it were a poor-looking side of pork at a market. But the sharp-voiced one (the grave digger, Johannes thought) was objecting in a shrill tone, as the deep-voiced personage was clearly a madman and heretic that wanted Johannes’ cold corpse for unnatural purposes.  

“No, you idiot. I want to cut it open!” The deep voice was sharp with annoyance.

“He be already dead, won’t do ye much good to try an’ kill him again!”

There was a pause, and the deep voice changed, becoming persuasive. “Nevertheless. These Landsknecht soldiers should pay for their brutality even after death, do you not think? And it will serve a higher purpose. For science.” The voice ended on a pious note, as though slitting Johannes’ belly open to study were a pleasing thing in the sight of God instead of the rank heresy it was. Johannes began to feel the faint stirring of panic. He fought to speak, but his tongue was a dried and unresponsive stone in his mouth.

“…Saints preserve us, have it your way. Eight _bronzo_ and it be yours.” There was a clink of coins. Johannes heard the squelch of pattens through the mud as someone made their way closer. A shadow fell across his face. He struggled to open his eyes, but the lids were stuck together with a crust of tears and other exudations.

“Is it fresh?” asked the shadow.

“Found it this morn. Cannot be havin' rubbish like that lying around, needs burying - else there be a pack of dogs tearing it apart.” There was a spitting noise, and a warm fleck of spittle landed on Johannes’ chilled cheek. “Murderin’ mercenary scum.”

“Oh, I do not know,” said the deep voice in a considering way. “I have always wondered about the effects of air and sun on the properties of human viscera. How long would it take to dry? Is it truly possible to cause human bowels to burst? Hm. A possible experiment to do…”

 _Oh, merciful Lord._ Weak as a newborn kitten, John could only lie on the muddy ground and listen as the deep-voiced man hectored the other into the use of his barrow cart.

Long arms thrust under his shoulders to drag him up. John couldn’t manage enough breath to cry out as the movement shifted the bolt head in his shoulder in a searing grind of agony, but a groan forced its way past dry lips. The arms tightened and the motion ceased. With the last of his failing strength, Johannes finally opened his eyes. His head lolled back against a warm body. The world was a blur of white and blue and black. He blinked with great effort. A face swam into focus - upside down, and looking at him with great interest in pale grey eyes.

“Be he not dead yet?” asked the grave-digger.

“Obviously not,” breathed the madman. “But I have a feeling that this will end up costing me more than eight _bronzo.”_

“I can take care of that,” offered the other. “Let me get the spade.”

A finger pressed under Johannes’ nose, then at his throat. “No. Help me get him to the cart.” The pale face smiled down at him, eyes flicking over each of Johannes’ features, but apprehension was swelling beneath Johannes' breastbone, pressing his lungs until he was panting in quick, pained gasps. The man’s expression held not the human warmth of a man who is glad that his fellow man still lives, but that of a child with a insect caught in its hand. The insect might be crushed, or have its legs torn away, or a pin thrust through its body, but its struggles would only be that much more interesting to watch. _I can do what I like with this funny little creature,_ said the man’s expression. _Anything._

“I paid for him. He’s _mine_ ,” said the madman with satisfied finality.

And Johannes began to pray.

 _‘I prithee, Lord, let me live. Please. Please. Please, let me live!’_ Hands were at his feet and he was being lifted from the mud. As the world dimmed, his last delirious thought was, _‘And let not my bowels be taken out and burst by this lunatic, please, oh Lord.’_   

**Author's Note:**

> I drew the John sketch about a year ago and always meant to make a companion piece. I had no idea when I started there’d be so much detail I’d want to put into the Sherlock one, but in doing him as a scholar, it seemed right to have a 221B style picture full of clutter and significance.
> 
> Episode references - A Study in Pink
> 
> -the flower, dianthus or common name ‘pink’.  
> -the skull (friend of yours?)  
> -the knife in letters (I can tidy up…)
> 
> The Blind Banker
> 
> -Map of London (London A-Z)
> 
> A Scandal in Belgravia
> 
> -Table of Elements according to Aristotelian principles (Earth, Air, Fire, Water.) As seen in Sherlock’s bedroom.
> 
> The Reichenbach Fall
> 
> -Chess pieces. (I chose them according to their moves to reflect character. The white king is John. The broken black bishop is Moriarty. The fallen white queen is Sherlock.)
> 
> Of course this wouldn’t be a proper Gothic era style picture without other symbols.
> 
> -the compass - morality  
> -the scales - balance, justice  
> -the letters - the historical version of Sherlock’s texting  
> -the book - in Latin it reads, “The Philosophy of Deduction. The philosophy can be summed up as follows: I. Observe all. II. From what is observed, all can be deduced. III. When the impossible is eliminated, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. My name is Sherlock Holmes.” Or in other words, this book is his website for others to read and marvel over the details of types of wood ash.  
> Or to summarize the philosophy:  
> Ars mea:  
> 1\. Video quodque.  
> 2\. Ubi videram, repeto quodque.  
> 3\. Ubi secreveram quodcumque non esse potest, est necessarium que quodque remanet, etiamsi amens videtur, verum est.  
> -the Vitruvian man - Sherlock’s studies.  
> -the anatomical drawing of the heart - John. In Latin it reads “We choose to love, we do not choose to cease loving. Yet my love will never cease as long as your heart beats.”
> 
> Based on elements from a Orley portrait and a Holbein portrait. Chess pieces from a 14th century painting. Map of London circa early 16th century. Elements from 14th century manuscript. Vitruvian man and heart from Da Vinci sketches. Only an utter unabashed history nerd will care that I tried to keep everything to what could plausibly be found in a 16th scholars room, but hey. 
> 
> If you are interested in Tumblring the picture and fic, it can be found here: http://jessamygriffith.tumblr.com/post/31778406541/consultingdepressive-lux-obscura
> 
> Likewise, if you are gasping to see higher res pictures, (though I can't see why, pencil sketches always look scrubby close up,) you can find them here: http://crimsongriffin28.deviantart.com/#/d5f46oz
> 
> The ficlet was a spur of the moment piece. Inspiration partly came from the first onscreen appearance of Sherlock looking into the body bag with that curious and eager look, partly Monty Python (‘I’m not dead!’ ‘Yes, you are, you’ll be stone dead in a minute.’), partly a touch of Terry Pratchett and partly whatever passed through my head. No sequel is planned - you can imagine Sherlock testing out medicines on his deathly-ill purchase, to see how efficacious some concoctions are, until Johannes is better, and then a murder intrigue and Johannes saves Sherlock's life with his swordsmanship and the debt is paid between them. That sounds about right, yes?


End file.
